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Ava
He let me go. Part of me is still in disbelief that he simply turned and walked away when he found me fleeing him after our passionate coupling during which he’d announced that I was his from then on. I’d fully expected him to chase me down and chain me to his bed.
I’m thoroughly relieved that he didn’t. I need to get away from him. I need my freedom. I can’t lose myself in him.
The man who kidnapped me and then let my father trade my freedom away. The man who effectively bought me like I was a possession—whether he chooses to see it that way or not.
Why then do I feel so empty and depressed?
I didn’t have anywhere to go after leaving Gage. I couldn’t go home to a father who would so callously trade my life for his own. I never wanted to see or hear from him again.
And I felt so irrevocably changed after Gage that I knew I could no longer go home and pretend to be the silly, naive little girl that I was before.
So I’d taken off into the city. By some miracle, I’d been offered a job and a place to stay at the first diner I’d walked into. The owner is a kind old woman who’d taken me under her wing. I already regard her as the mother I never had.
I’ve definitely gone down in the world. No college. Working a simple job, but I have food to eat and a roof over my head, and most of all I have my freedom.
But I’m not happy, and it’s not the lack of material comforts and riches that troubles me.
I just feel…empty. So empty.
It’s like I’m perpetually cold after feeling the heat of the sun. Nothing in my life can compare to it.
I’m not disappointed that Gage didn’t fight for me. I can’t be. Though I am filled with embarrassment and shame at the thought of him. I still remember my body’s wanton response to him that night. I’m taunted by dreams of his hands on me and wake up wet and throbbing. I’ve tried touching myself the way he did, but nothing relieves the ache.
I’m so pathetic I don’t even know how to give myself the kind of relief his body gave me.
And then I’m filled with humiliation when I realize that I was just a challenge to him. Once he had me, he let me go.
Just another notch on his belt. That’s all I was.
All that possessive talk was just that—talk in the heat of the moment. He obviously didn’t mean any of it. And that’s good really. I didn’t want to be his captive forever. Things worked out better than I could have ever hoped.
They did.
And being an inexperienced virgin, there’s no way I could satisfy a man like Gage who’s probably been with women who knew what they were doing, women who know how to pleasure a man beyond his wildest dreams.
And I’m nothing but a girl. A silly, stupid little girl who went and fell in love with her captor.
The realization comes to me slowly, but I have to recognize it for what it is. Either I have severe Stockholm syndrome or somewhere along the way I fell in love with my dark, brooding kidnapper.
Or maybe I’m just fuck struck.
Who the hell knows?
All I know is Gage is in my dreams every night. His image flits across my mind all the time. Every time I close my eyes, his blue eyes are there piercing me, calling me his. My body still thrums with energy every second of the day like it’s just waiting for him, but that’s impossible.
He let me go.
I close up the diner and begin the short trek to Miranda’s apartment. She’s been looking tired lately. The poor woman runs herself ragged going in early every day to open up and staying late to close up the diner. I finally convinced her to let me take over closing up the place so she can go home earlier and get more rest. I’m younger than she is and can handle the longer hours better. Plus, I try to keep myself busy to keep my mind off of Gage and all the confusing feelings he elicits in me.
The city streets are still bustling with pedestrians even at this time of night, people catching late-night shows and dinners. Because of all the foot traffic, I’ve always felt relatively safe traversing the streets at night for the short walk to where I stay with my boss.
That’s why I’m totally caught off guard when I feel a rough hand slap over my mouth as I’m jerked backward into a dark alley.
I instinctively begin to kick and scream against the foul-smelling hand, my panic kicking up into overdrive when I’m pressed face-first against the cold brick of a building, a huge form reeking of body odor and stale alcohol pinning me in place.
“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” a cold voice chuckles in my ear. “That’s okay. I like it when they fight.”
